


behind every door

by honeyvoiced



Category: Dynasty (TV 2017)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/F, Forbidden Love, Gore, Graphic Violence, Horror, Original Character(s), Original Mythology, Werewolves, absolutely no a/b/o in my good christian home, bad characterization of alicia anders probably, every other canon relationship is background too though, poorly veiled monster metaphors for gayness, spicy werewolf fic without the typical furry-adjacent tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:34:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28480977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeyvoiced/pseuds/honeyvoiced
Summary: What Kirby had always loved the most, though, were the stories that Alicia would tell about the monsters walking the earth in Atlanta, and how lucky Kirby was to have gotten back to Australia just in time.
Relationships: Kirby Anders/Fallon Carrington
Comments: 8
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Amanda for beta-reading!  
> It's very cool and hinged of me to write a second Firby fic about Fallon being a literal murderous monster, actually.

Wind whipped Kirby's hair around her face, sticking it to her lip gloss and making her sputter in irritation as she tried to wipe it away the moment she stepped out onto the balcony. Sliding the glass door shut behind her, she replaced the sounds of the party inside with the whistling of the air outside instead, cut through only by the distant sounds of car horns and engines rumbling on the downtown streets below. Tugging the elastic from her wrist, she messily tied her hair back and out of her face, stepping over to the railing and leaning over it curiously. A thirty-story drop greeted her, but when she leaned even further over the edge, she could see the party-goers only a few floors down enjoying the outdoor pool. A woman shrieked, pressing against the glass barrier that separated the pool from the rest of the open air, before laughing and kissing some faceless companion that Kirby couldn't quite make out from the awkward angle that she was watching from. That should have been her; enjoying everything that the newly completed  _ Apex Atlanta _ hotel had to offer - a luxury high-rise that had barely been open for a month before earning a reputation for not only being the nightlife hotspot but also wonderfully discreet. Kirby's father had chosen the location for the latter reason, though, and after her expulsion from the previous three hotels that he'd tried to set her up in, she'd been firmly advised to keep any sort of 'partying' to a minimum.

That hadn’t stopped her from having a couple of new friends over to visit, though. For all of his emotional shortcomings, her father hadn’t spared much expense on her suite, and it was too big to enjoy in solitude. She’d spent enough time alone over the last several years to last a lifetime anyway, and if her father was going to let her come crawling back and then push her away again, then she was going to fill the void somehow. When she’d gotten the invitation to come back she’d been considerably more thrilled than her mother was, but Alicia rarely agreed with anything that her ex-husband did. Kirby was pretty sure that she was being intentionally contrarian, always taking the opposite stance no matter how likely it was that she would have agreed if she hadn’t known Joseph did, too. It was hard to picture that they’d ever been even remotely happy together, but the photographic evidence  _ did  _ exist, packed away in old albums and boxes that were crammed in the backs of storage closets away from the light of day. 

The suite she was currently situated in didn't leave her wanting much of anything, but knowing that the manor - her childhood home, and her father's place of employment - was even better equipped put a bitter taste in her mouth that she knew wouldn't go away until she'd been given a fair shot at evening the scales. Her mother Alicia was a big believer in karma, but retribution was much more Kirby's speed. She’d been sent away on a false charge anyway, and the court of Carrington had decided that her already-bad reputation was evidence enough. Being able to face them again - Alexis, Blake,  _ Fallon _ … even her own father hadn’t stood up for her the way he should have - was going to be a trip in itself. She deserved at least the chance to explain herself better - better than her twelve-year-old self was able to at the time - and if not, getting to kick Fallon’s ass one more time, for old time’s sake, would help heal the wound at least a little bit. 

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, but she ignored it - she'd left Australia in a hurry, and the few friends that she had there had been trying to get ahold of her almost constantly, wondering where she was. She'd only meant to come for the wedding - the older of the two Carrington siblings, Steven, had finally settled down - but after the fire at the manor, the entire thing felt too suspicious to just walk away from. If she hadn't known any better she'd assume she was being framed, but the only person who knew she was back should have been her father, and he wouldn't have set her up that way. It was going to be spooky to go back into the home that she grew up in equipped with new monster stories from her mom, though. Alicia had her parenting shortcomings that other families tended to turn their noses up at, but Kirby's favorite misguided trait of hers was her affinity for all things scary. She'd spent many a night when she'd first flown home curled up in bed with Alicia, shivering under the covers and staring wide-eyed at the open closet door across the room, anticipating the appearance of one of the monsters from whatever movie her mother had unfortunately allowed to her watch that night. A few R-rated horror movies would have been easy enough to desensitize oneself to as a young preteen, though. What was worse were the stories that she liked to tell.

The burning airman in the woods in Canberra; the secret underground society of Satanists in Perth; and - a childhood favourite - the Bunyip. What Kirby had always loved the most, though, were the stories that Alicia would tell about the monsters walking the earth in Atlanta, and how lucky Kirby was to have gotten back to Australia just in time. It was admittedly thrilling to hear about places she recognized with a supernatural twist, and as Kirby got older she began to realize that it was all an obvious ploy to make her feel good about having been exiled. She hadn’t been kicked out of her home and tossed back at her mother like old garbage - she had narrowly escaped with her life. Sometimes she’d illustrate her stories with artifacts from her personal collection. She loved things that were bizarre in nature and seemed to have a prop to go along with each new tale, local legend or otherwise.

The stories varied. The environmentalism push that had swept across the state of Georgia was actually because the fumes from fossil fuels were rotting the barely-preserved flesh of the senators and representatives in power; all accusations in the past of voter fraud were illegitimate because some people really did live long enough to vote well past one hundred and fifty years of age - the stories Alicia told spread out and became less and less frequent, and exciting as Kirby got older. She tried to convince herself that it was because she didn’t need the stories anymore. She’d grown accustomed to being back in Australia and had slowly tried to rebuild her life from the ground up. Making friends was difficult, and school was an absolute drag, but it was healthier than Atlanta had been. Deep down, a part of her knew, watching her mother, that her slow disinterest in all of the things that used to properly excite her wasn’t because Kirby was growing up, though. Her mental health declined steadily but gradually; the ‘girls weekend’ getaways to cheer up after a long week began to turn into long tours of tropical islands and resorts. She watched her mother slowly turn into a new woman, drizzling away the money that her father sent them and becoming a husk of the edgy, in-your-face force that had taught her to stick up for herself and enjoy all things strange and unusual. Her constant escapism was impossible to argue with, so Kirby just tagged along.

When she was twenty-one, Alicia had one more story for her.

* * *

The pair of them sat on the end of the large king-sized bed in the middle of their hotel room, watching the small television screen that illuminated the space. On the floor between where their feet were planted sat the remaining half-bottle of wine that they'd picked up on their way to the room; clutched in each of their hands was a room-provided paper cup from the coffee tray on the desk. 

The news on the screen was quiet, and Kirby’s voice sounded rough and far too loud even to herself when she spoke over it. 

“I wonder how anyone ever gets that rich.”

Anthony Pratt, a billionaire being profiled for a soft fluff piece, appeared on the screen as if Kirby had summoned him. 

Alicia chuckled darkly beside her, reaching down to grab the bottle and top up her cup. Kirby watched her as she waited for her to elaborate on her amusement, cocking her head to the side. The stiff bed creaked as she put the bottle back down, and Kirby felt a pang in her chest of homesickness for her own bed. It was Alicia's idea to stay the night in a hotel near the airport - they'd just flown back to Australia that afternoon and had another flight early in the morning to their next destination - she didn't see any use in unpacking, or even going home, so they'd grabbed a room instead. Kirby hadn't seen the inside of her own living room in almost two weeks, and it would be another two before she did.

"The secret to getting that rich is to have more influence than anyone else," she replied.

Pursing her lips, Kirby mulled that over, then sipped her own wine again before asking,

"How do you get the influence without the money? Sounds a little... chicken or the egg, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah," Alicia agreed. "Unless you have another influence. If you can take out your competition elsewhere, or if you make deals with the right... well, I wouldn't say people. Entities, maybe."

Something about the blas é way that she’d said it -  _ entities -  _ gave Kirby a nostalgic shock of excitement the same way it always had when she was a kid. It was intentionally casual - the smirk growing on the woman’s lips while she sipped her fresh wine was the telltale sign that she was waiting for Kirby to show interest before trying to involve her.

“I’ll bite.”

Chuckling, the sound echoing into the cup, Alicia rolled her eyes as if she were  _ so  _ disinterested, but willing to tell the story for Kirby’s sake.

"Supernatural influence," she clarified. 

"Like ghosts?"

" _ Monsters _ ."

Leaning in excitedly, Kirby pulled her legs up onto the bed and sat on them, settling in to hear the details.

"I'm no expert," Alicia began, "But I think, for wealth like that, there's a certain amount of greed that one needs - and that sort of greed... it's a sickness. You can't be all right in the head if you're that cursed with need. 

"It wouldn't be a far stretch to assume that anyone who wanted to be in a position like that," she nodded to the television, but Kirby's eyes didn't leave her face, "Would be willing to pay a pretty steep price."

"Like... selling your soul?" she asked.

"Exactly. That’s why we have monsters, after all. They were all people at some point - or at least somewhat.”

“And you think that’s how rich people are? They’re all secretly evil?”

“There’s nothing secretive about the evil nature of that kind of money,” Alicia replied easily. 

Kirby nodded, then, perhaps because of the wine, let the words fall out of her without filter.

“I wonder how many Carringtons sold their souls.”

She regretted the words instantly. She did spend a fair bit of time thinking about the Carringtons - none of the thoughts particularly friendly - but her mother's reactions when she did mention them were so unpleasant that she'd stopped saying the name out loud in her presence altogether. Fearing that their storytime and bonding over drinks was about to come to an abrupt end, Kirby caught her eye and was surprised to see her giving her a pensive, curious look.

"Well," she said, her voice surprisingly soft. "I wouldn't know about all of that. But I  _ do _ know a good story about another Atlanta family, funnily enough."

Lighting up at the realization that she hadn't ruined the good vibe of the evening, Kirby scooted in closer, listening attentively.

"There was, generations ago, a family called Primrose. Came to America at least a good hundred years back. They weren't exactly living in poverty, but it only took a single generation for them to become one of the richest families in the east - but strangely enough, the help just kept... disappearing.

"It was always suspected that it was the wife - her marriage secured the Primrose family to another wealthy house in the area, and everyone who knew her swore that she lived to be one hundred because of a nearly all-meat diet. That wouldn't be so suspect, except people also swore that anyone who took work at their manor was never seen again."

“What, like she was sacrificing them?” Kirby asked, leaning back to look at her mother skeptically. “To the devil, or something?”

“Eating them,” Alicia corrected.

Feeling a familiar, terrified but thrilled drop in her stomach, Kirby fought to keep the nervous smile off of her face.

"Cannibals?"

"The kind that howl at the moon and can't hold their silver," Alicia hinted.

"Werewolves."

"Werewolves," she confirmed, nodding slowly.

"So? Where are they now?"

Alicia sighed, leaning back with a shrug. 

"No one knows, really. They might've been bred out - a lot fewer murders and missing persons reports came from the area, and no investigation ever seemed to unearth anything unusual. That's how monsters move, though. They're rarely caught by the law."

"But then, how do they just... phase out, like that?"

"Well," Alicia gestured with her cup. "I never said they weren't caught at all. Just because they don't end up in a jail cell doing twenty-five to life doesn't mean they don't end up with their head in a ditch and their body in a swamp."

Kirby shivered unpleasantly at the image, peering down into her cup of wine before setting it aside disinterestedly.

Sensing that she'd lost her, Alicia smiled tiredly and stood up, leaning over to smooth her daughter's hair back and kiss her temple before beginning to clean up their drinks.

"What happened to the other family, though?" Kirby asked. "You said that the Primrose lady married into another rich family - and that this was all generations ago. Surely they're still alive, right? Are they still in Atlanta? What was the other family called?"

Alicia chuckled, glancing back over her shoulder from the corner of the room as she tossed out their cups.

"It was just a story, Kirby. We have to get up early - get some sleep."

Kicking off her slippers and crawling to the head of the bed, Kirby buried herself under the duvet and reached for the television remote to turn off the news. The room fell quiet and dark, and after a moment the bed dipped as Alicia climbed in on the other side. 

She didn't say another word, but Kirby still couldn't relax. She hadn't felt unsettled by a monster story since she was a kid and was far too embarrassed to ask for more details to calm her racing mind. Balling herself up as tightly as possible, she tucked her pillow roughly under her cheek and squeezed her eyes shut, though it was nearly impossible to clear her mind from thoughts of decapitated monsters, billionaires, and Atlanta.

* * *

The buzzing in her pocket stopped, followed by her phone loudly chirping to alert her that she had a new voicemail. Sighing and finally pulling it out to look at the screen, Kirby rolled her eyes at the several notifications of missed calls - and voicemails - from her dad. She already knew that none of the calls were to tell her that it was safe to come back to the manor and that she was welcome back in her old home, so responding to him was near the bottom of her list of priorities for the time being.

Heading back into the party instead, Kirby crossed the suite to the kitchen and swung open the fridge, ignoring the people milling around as she pulled out a bottle of water.

“Shots, Kirby?” One of the men behind her suggested. Glancing back over her shoulder, Kirby spotted him near the sink, gesturing with a bottle of vodka gripped in one hand. Smiling with a shrug, she made her way over to him and leaned against the counter as he poured. He was nice enough - maybe she wasn’t as bad at the whole ‘making new friends’ thing as she admonished herself for. She lost a few points for already forgetting his name, though.

He handed her one of the shot glasses as he finished filling them, clinking the edge of his own against hers before they tapped them to the counter and simultaneously tossed them back. It burned - but only slightly - a sure sign that it would be her last shot for the night, assuming she wanted to remember anything when she woke up the next day.

“Someone order room service?” The man in front of her nodded to something over her shoulder and she whipped around in confusion, only to be met with the sight of her father making his way through the doorway. He stuck out like a sore thumb, weaving through people dressed in casual or less while wearing a freshly-pressed pristine-condition suit himself. 

Kirby’s stomach dropped and for a moment she considered hiding. She could dip out of the opposite side of the kitchen, down the hall to her actual bedroom, and then scale the wall outside of the window. Maybe the couple from the pool earlier would be interested in helping hide a refugee. Her panic froze her to the spot, though, and her dad spotted her - quickly made his way over with a growing look of stern disappointment.

“Hi,” she tried meekly as he stopped in front of her.

“I could not have been more clear, Kirby.  _ No parties. _ ”

"This is hardly a party. We're being quiet enough," she reasoned. They weren't exactly having a calm wine-and-cheese evening, but she hadn't had a noise complaint yet. It was an improvement from the previous hotel stays that she'd had. "What're you doing here? Just babysitting me? It would be a lot easier to keep a watchful eye over me if you just brought me back to the manor."

"Actually," her father nearly cut her off, "That's why I'm here. You got a package - late delivery, express. Apparently, very urgent."

Kirby glanced around, then fixed him with the coldest look of disinterest she could muster.

"And? Where is it?"

"At the manor. It's a little... awkward to move, and I need you to sign with the staff to say that you got it."

"No one knows I'm here," Kirby pointed out. "Why would anyone be sending me anything?"

The man before her clasped his hands, clearly already over the entire conversation.

"I was going to have a car pick you up, but you weren't answering your phone. Now I see that that would have been a mistake. I'll send someone to collect you in the morning, after you've sobered up - you can get your mail then."

"Wait -" she almost reached for him as he turned around again, frowning at her own sudden neediness. "That - was that everything?"

Glancing back at her, his steps pausing, he mirrored her frown.

"What else would it be?"

"I just - okay. I'll see you in the morning, then."

With a curt nod, he headed back to the door and paused, one hand on the handle.

"I think it's time to send your friends home," he gestured around the front room of the suite, then gave her a stern look before opening the door and vanishing into the hall.

Feeling uncomfortably 'told' and disappointed, Kirby rolled her water bottle between her hands and then set it down on the countertop. She almost wanted to keep the party going, just out of spite, but knowing that she'd be back at the manor - probably first thing in the morning - made her feel too anxious and excited to consider having any more fun.

"Okay..." she raised her voice over the other conversations happening around her. "I need everyone out - I'm sorry. I have an early morning, apparently."

Smiling apologetically at the disappointed protests from her guests as they slowly began to clear out, Kirby surveyed the state of the space from the party and sighed tiredly. She was usually good at cleaning up after herself, but the idea of trying to start tidying the mess around her made her feel even more exhausted, suddenly craving the queen-sized bed with the unfamiliar detergent scent in the other room. Waiting until she was sure the last person had left, she double-checked that the door was locked and barely made it to her room before abrupt, sluggish exhaustion took over her entirely.

For the first time in years, she didn’t dream.


	2. Chapter 2

The heat outside was uncomfortably dry as Kirby stepped out of the hotel lobby and hiked her backpack up onto her shoulder. She thought that bringing her entire suitcase might have been a little presumptuous, but she did pack a change of clothes and some of her makeup - maybe seeing her inside the manor again would be enough to convince her dad to finally let her stay.

She brushed her fingers over her phone in her pocket when she felt the phantom vibration from it. She hadn't received a text or call from her dad since five o'clock that morning, letting her know that a car would pick her up around ten and to be ready. She'd almost slept too late, rushing around her room at nine-thirty to clean herself up and chug some coffee from the cart in the living room area. The gift shop downstairs mercifully had ibuprofen in stock as well, but none of her typical hangover remedies could properly counter-balance the uncomfortableness of standing outside in the hot sun with low blood sugar. 

The car pulled up promptly at exactly ten o’clock - Kirby recognized the subtle  _ Carrington Atlantic  _ frame around the front license plate, and the even smaller Carrington family crest nestled in the center of the plate itself - and just as she approached, the driver stepped out from the front seat and made his way around to open her door for her. She wasn't used to the treatment anymore, and it took her by surprise, but she said nothing as she gave a quick nod of appreciation and climbed into the back seat. The air-conditioned interior was a welcome change; she could already feel the nausea dissipating. She was a little further from the manor than she'd realized when she'd first moved into the hotel suite. The Carringtons had always liked their privacy on their own terms, but she had a sinking feeling that the distance between them had more to do with her presence than a simple instance of not being able to find any closer accommodation. The further away she was, the less likely anyone from the family would run into her in public during the day. If that had been her father's concern, it had been for nothing. She hadn't been leaving her hotels unless it was to move to  _ another  _ hotel since she'd arrived.

Seeing the manor approaching in the distance was much more uncomfortable during the daytime. When she'd first arrived back, it had been dark, and she'd been there so briefly before her father had made other arrangements that she'd barely been given a real chance to let the memories resurface and ruin her night. It was clearer in the sunlight, though. It was hard not to feel like a little kid again as they pulled up the excessively long drive and slid past the manor entrance toward the back of the property. When she was very young, she used to close her eyes as they approached the front door and pretend that the car would stop and let her out there, rather than completing its course to the staff and shipping entrance instead.

Not being allowed in the front door even  _ now,  _ when she’d been  _ invited _ \- not even with someone else driving her - made the shameful sinking feeling return to her stomach just like she was ten years old again. No one greeted her at the staff entrance, so she took it upon herself to go looking. They may as well have dropped her off at the front door like everyone else - she ended up wandering into the foyer anyway and ignoring the nervous pounding in her chest as she looked around. Not much had changed - the decor, ever so slightly, maybe - a new table in the middle of the foyer, what looked like restored wooden railings along the sides of each of the massive half-curve stairs that led up to the second-floor hallway, and, most surprisingly, fresh flowers on every surface.

With a pang of guilt, Kirby realized what the flowers were for. Her father had mentioned, in passing while shooing her out the door and into the car that would whisk her off to her first of many hotel stays, that there had been a death in the family. He hadn't given many details, but she could still tell that he was shaken up and didn't press for more information at the time. 

She didn't have long to admire any of the funeral flowers before her father seemed to materialize out of thin air, startling her.

"I thought I'd asked them to take you to the staff entrance."

"No one was there," Kirby replied shakily, watching as he pulled a large dolly-cart behind himself as he approached her. "Is that it?"

Nestled on the cart was a crate - larger than Kirby had been expecting, and looking like something out of a cartel movie prop house. The worn wood and 'HANDLE WITH CARE' stamped on the side in fading letters were almost comically cliche, but she recognized who must have sent it immediately.

"It's from Mum."

"Yes, it appears so."

Pulling the cart to a stop between them, he pulled a crowbar - Kirby had to stifle an outright laugh at the image - from the back of the cart and reached for the crate.

"I'll do it," she insisted, taking it carefully and then wedging the tool into the top lip of the container. It sprang open easily, clattering loudly to the floor and echoing up to the high vaulted ceilings. Her father winced but said nothing, and no one else came running to see what the noise was about.

"Where is everyone?" Kirby asked, setting the crowbar aside and stepping closer to peer into the box.

"Fallon is working and Blake is taking a sabbatical. I'm sure Steven and Sam are around here somewhere, which is why I'd like if we could wrap this up quickly and get you back." He gestured to the crate, and Kirby ignored the disappointed pang in her chest. Pushing the feeling aside to make room for her own curiosity, she pushed some of the packing material around and spotted a large plastic container with a letter taped to the top.

Tearing it free, she reached into the crate to tip the inner container sideways and peer into its clear sides, rolling her eyes at the anticlimactic solution to her curiosity: clothing. Her own clothing, actually - even more boring. Setting it back down in its spot, she noted a few other much more interesting objects surrounding it, and was beginning to rifle through them when her father cleared his throat impatiently. She glanced up to catch his eye, but noticed him staring at the letter and turned her attention to it, instead, ripping it open and scanning the first few lines impatiently.

_ “Well?” _

“She’s… selling the condo. Again,” Kirby read, “She wasn’t sure how long I’d be in Atlanta and thought I might want some stuff before she packs it in storage.”

“ _ Stuff _ ,” her father repeated, reaching into the crate with a look of distaste and pulling out what appeared to be a large bronze decorative egg. Shaking it produced a loud, clanging rattle sound and he disinterestedly dropped it back into the crate.

"Yeah..." she trailed off distractedly, her eyes drifting away from the letter to the crate again. There was no way she'd be able to take it all back to the hotel with her - the clothes could come, but the artifacts would have to stay at the manor, for the time being.

"Your mother always did have a hard time distinguishing between the valuable and the bizarre."

"Let’s not talk about her," Kirby replied sharply, watching the slightly surprised look on his face morph into something more apologetic. She dropped his gaze before he could say anything else, though, and reread the last few lines of the letter one more time.

_ When you have the chance, take a look around our old suite. I'm sure there's more for you to find. _

"She said there's more stuff for me in the suite - is it still the same?"

Clearing his throat, he looked away and shook his head slightly.

"I'm afraid that the suite isn't in any sort of state to be... rifled through, right now. 

"What?" She asked, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "What do you mean by that?"

"Nothing," her father replied easily. "The entire staff wing has been undergoing renovations for quite some time, now. You're welcome to come back another time, though, and look."

"I am?" Kirby asked, surprised.

"Of course... as long as the arrangements are made ahead of time."

Rolling her eyes and refolding the letter, Kirby crammed it into her pocket and then dipped down to grab the fallen lid from the crate.

"You'll have to store this here for me. And let me know when I can come back and take a look - I'm sure it'll be a nice walk down memory lane." She couldn't help but let the sarcastic venom slip into her tone, laced with years of bitterness. If her father cared, he didn't react.

“I can do that. Maybe you want to take some of it with you, though.”

Knowing he was right, she reached in for the container of clothes, neatly folded and crammed into place in rows. It made her feel suddenly, violently homesick, picturing her mother sitting on her bedroom floor by her open closet and painstakingly folding and organizing pieces that she thought she might need for the cooler Atlanta weather, so she focused on the other contents of the crate instead.

An intricately carved quiver stuck out to her, so she set the clothing aside to pull it out instead. It was capped, but she could hear that it had arrows inside when she shook it. 

Her father leaned across the crate curiously to look as well - perhaps Alicia's interest in all things strange wasn't a complete waste of time. Gripping the cap in one hand and wedging the rest of the quiver under her arm for momentum, Kirby wrenched and twisted it as hard as she could to no avail before giving up. 

"Huh."

Slinging it up onto her shoulder - a project for later - she peered down into the box again and shrugged.

"I'll see if I can get this open. You can keep the rest -  _ for now _ ."

Nodding once, stiffly, her father grabbed the lid and placed it back on top of the crate loosely.

"Should I walk you out?"

"I'm sure I can find the door all by myself," Kirby replied, more coldly than she'd intended to. “You can call me when you’re ready to sneak me back in - god forbid anyone have to see me.”

“Kirby, that isn’t -”

“You know where to reach me. Tell the car I’m ready.”

Grabbing the clothing and hiking the arrow quiver up onto her shoulder a bit more, she turned to slide past her father and the crate to head down the hall to the staff doors.

* * *

**_TWO WEEKS EARLIER_ **

"I'm not having this conversation again," Kirby huffed, pulling out another dress and holding it up to herself in the mirror. It was a little too beachy for a Carrington affair, for sure, much more suited to her lifestyle of vacations and hot, humid days on the beach. "I'm going - I have emergency cash, anyway. I'll come home if I have to."

Alicia watched her from the bed, dropping her gaze when they locked eyes through the reflection of the mirror.

"I wouldn't be a good parent if I didn't warn you at every opportunity what a terrible idea I think this is."

"Well, you've done that, rest assured," Kirby promised, turning around and facing her properly. Her expression softened when she watched the older woman absentmindedly brush non-existent dust from the throw blanket folded on the end of her bed; a fussy, unnecessary mother-ism. "I'll be fine."

Coming closer to the bed, she turned her attention from her mother to the open suitcase beside her, and carefully folded the dress into it. Maybe she'd go to a club. Atlanta had a pretty famous nightlife scene.

"I could go with you," Alicia offered, but Kirby shook her head.

"No, definitely not." 

She didn't protest again - Kirby knew it had been an empty offer, anyway.

"It's just... ten years is a long time, Kirby." 

"Yeah," she huffed, trying not to sound too frustrated that they were still having this conversation. "I know that."

"Where are you going to stay?"

"Well, assuming the reunion goes well, my old room. Otherwise, I'll get a hotel. Or stay with a friend."

"What friend?"

"I have friends," she lied defensively.

Alicia eyed her for a moment, then seemed to decide not to call her out on it.

“How long will you be gone?”

“I… I don’t know. Not more than a week, if that, I’d think.” Kirby looked around her bedroom for a moment, then sighed. It was already relatively bare - her mother had been trying to sell the condo for a little over a month, and the market was surprisingly competitive. If she was in Atlanta much longer than planned, she was sure that she wouldn’t have a home to come back to.

“I don’t love the idea of you going back by yourself. Maybe I should just phone ahead, and -”

“I said ‘no’,” Kirby replied, a little more sternly. “You’ve been gone longer than I have - and I can do this myself. I wouldn’t ask you to talk to Dad after everything, especially not just because of some misplaced worry.”

Alicia stood, then, stepping over a pile of rejected clothing to be returned to the closet, and sighed. Reaching up, she cupped either side of her daughter’s face and surveyed her thoughtfully. Kirby thought she looked more tired than usual, like the conversation had aged her. 

“You’re resourceful. I know you’ll be okay - but please call me when you can. Or email, or… tweet. Or whatever.”

“Ew,” Kirby laughed, twisting away and pushing the woman’s hands away in mock-disgust. “You’re doing that thing again - acting your age?”

Snorting humorlessly, Alicia let her go and rolled her eyes, stepping over another pile of clothing towards the door.

"I'm going to the bank to get you some cash - but make sure you wring what you can out of your dad for this trip - it's the least he could do."

"I will," Kirby chuckled, shaking her head as she reached for one of her extra phone chargers, cramming it into the empty side of the suitcase. "Trust me, I know."

“And Kirby?”

She glanced up, her own face falling a little at the suddenly more serious look that Alicia had taken on.

“Yeah?”

“Please keep your head down and your lips sealed, while you’re there. No one needs to know our business out here - they’d visit, if they cared. I don’t want to give them anymore fuel - not given how awful they were to you last time.”

Sensing the bitterness in her voice, Kirby just nodded minutely, waiting until she’d left the room to turn her attention back to the piles of clothes before her. Kicking them into the bottom of her closet, one after the other, she crammed the door shut and leaned against it. They’d be a post-Atlanta problem - another on the list.


	3. Chapter 3

Getting comfortable on top of her hotel bed and opening her laptop, Kirby reached for the glass of wine on her nightstand and opened her messages. It was a little depressing, looking at all of her recent outgoing texts labelled as  _ delivered _ without responses, but the sixteen-hour time difference she’d put between herself and everyone back home did make for a pretty good excuse. Just as she was about to succumb to early-night boredom and log into her  _ Netflix  _ account to find something to zone out to, one message in particular changed very suddenly from  _ delivered  _ to  _ read. _

Her mother.

Double-clicking her name, she began to type up a new message before she had a chance to respond to the previous one - which was just a quick check-in text from a few days earlier - and was pleased to see that as she hit ‘send’ the label immediately appeared as  _ read. _

_ ‘I got your package.’ _

A typing bubble appeared instantly, vanishing to make room for Alicia’s response.

_ ‘And the note?’ _

Sitting up a little straighter, Kirby pulled the folded note from her pocket and set it down next to the laptop to reply.

_ ‘Yes. They’re renovating apparently. Haven’t been able to check out the old room.’ _

_ ‘Do it soon.’ _

Frowning at the very quick reply, and the way that she’d managed to convey so much urgency into three simple words, Kirby rested her fingers against the keys, unable to think of a response for a moment.

_ ‘Dad said soon.’ _

_ ‘Find a way.’ _

Kirby stared at the screen for a moment, then glanced up at the container of clothing and the antique arrow quiver propped against it across the room. Sliding off of the side of the bed, she grabbed her phone and crouched down beside it, aiming her camera at the top where it was capped and snapping a quick photo. Opening the message thread from her phone as she headed back to the bed, she added it to the chat and watched from her peripherals as it appeared on the laptop screen almost simultaneously.

_ ‘I’ll get to it. Where’d you get this?’ _

Her message appeared on the screen below the photo, but the label that appeared under it made her chest drop in disappointment.  _ Delivered. _

There was a distinct sort of loneliness in being ignored by your own mother when you were bored and trying to kill time. Slamming the laptop shut and sliding it aside, Kirby grabbed her wine again and took a big swig from the glass as she turned on the TV mounted to the wall across from her. She’d find something on a local channel to listen to as she scrolled aimlessly through her delivery apps to decide on something to have for dinner. She hit the 'channel up' button on the remote over and over until she started to pass through a block of financial news networks, doubling back to a previous one when she heard the name Blake Carrington.

Sitting up a little straighter, she leaned in and squinted at the screen, waiting for him to appear or be mentioned again as the anchor continued to drawl on.

_ "...going down two points and leaving investors unsure of what may be next. Carrington was unavailable for comment. We've been told by his representatives that the former CEO of Carrington Atlantic is travelling abroad in honor of his late wife's philanthropic pursuits that had already been underway when she was found dead in their home earlier this month." _

Kirby's heart leapt up into her throat.

_ "Police are still investigating the murder of Cristal Carrington, former COO of Carrington Atlantic, whose body was recovered from the remains of a fire on the Carrington property, though reports made public earlier in the month show that she had sustained gunshot injuries prior to the fire itself. Other family members who were witness to the fire have yet to make public comment, though multiple guests of an event being held in another building on the property the night of the fire have come forward with eye-witness claims." _

The anchor segued into another story seamlessly, but the ringing that had suddenly started in her ears drowned out his words.

Her dad  _ had  _ been smart to keep her away from the manor. She'd known that, too, deep down, though his claims that he believed she had nothing to do with said fire fell a little flat. She could see the suspicion on his face when she'd sworn on her life she hadn't started it - she really had returned with hopes that she could make Fallon miserable at least one more time, but she would never have gone that far - she never  _ had  _ gone that far, despite the accusations from her childhood.

On their worst days, as kids, she and Fallon had come to the occasional physical blow - messily pushing at each other and tattling to their parents when one of them took it too far - but Kirby wouldn’t ever have put her in serious danger, and despite how much she hated the other woman, she was sure Fallon probably felt the same towards her. Fallon would stoop fairly low just to kick Kirby while she was down, but  _ murder _ wasn’t exactly in that wheelhouse.

Shutting off the television, Kirby dropped her gaze back to the box across the room and then returned to it to dig through its contents. It was a shame to put her presence in Atlanta completely to waste, and the longer she stayed cooped up in her hotel room, thinking about her father, the Carringtons, and the way even her own mother had ghosted their conversation, the more annoyed she felt. 

Going out alone wasn’t exactly her idea of a great night, but none of the ‘new friends’ that she’d had visit her previously seemed like the most trustworthy company, and she was sure she could find a way to have a good time on her own, anyway. Money was the other issue - but what was left in her wallet plus the remainder of the emergency spending money that her dad had all but thrown at her when he’d dumped her in the first hotel of her trip would probably get her into at least one hot spot; that, and the short, tight glittery number she’d just pulled out from the bottom of the box.

It was a little on the small side when it came to length. She'd bought it when she was significantly younger and then shot upwards in height seemingly overnight, but it was a favorite of hers. Plus, she’d never  _ not  _ turned heads whenever she wore it. 

Decisively bringing the dress into the bathroom off of the bedroom, she hung it lazily from the towel rack and began to reorganize her makeup that was strewn across the surface of the counter. She'd go out - and if she wasn't having a good time, she'd come back to the hotel, wash her face, take a hot shower, and treat herself to some overpriced room service. A night out was what she deserved.

* * *

She didn't exactly want to set her sights so high that she would be humiliated by rejection, but she didn't want to end up overdressed in a dive, either. Taking an Uber - praying not to be stranded by the end of the night - she checked her reflection in her phone's screen one last time before hopping out outside of Gold Room. aking a glance at the line, Kirby took a deep breath, then held her head high to start the walk of shame towards the back.

"Hey - hey." One of the men waiting near the front with his friends called out to her, then gestured towards the door when she turned to face him. "You trying to get in?"

It wasn't that the man didn't look friendly - he looked a little too friendly, actually - but if being a part of a group was going to save her some cash on drinks for the night, she could maybe make a new friend. Besides, there was no rule saying she had to hang out with him all night, once they were through the door.

"Let her go meet up with her friends," one of the women that Kirby hadn't seen earlier spoke up, nudging the man roughly and then giving Kirby a particularly scathing once-over.

"Nah, nah - we can be her friends," one of the other men replied, reaching out over the rope for her. She stepped back a little. "You here by yourself?"

"I'm actually -" she started, not sure how exactly to answer. "I uh -"

" _ Hey, where's your accent from? _ "

"I should go," she replied quickly, shaking her head and turning to head towards the back of the line before any of them could say another word. The idea of running into any of them once she did get in -  _ if  _ she got in - later on in the night made her feel sick with embarrassment, and she considered finding a new place to go altogether.

"I've never seen a lineup like this," one woman spoke to her friend as Kirby approached the end of the queue.

"It's the new management. They started bringing in way better acts on weekends, so it’s impossible to get in without VIP. That's why everyone probably had the same idea as us for coming during the week."

"Ever since Jeff Colby bought it, they -"

"You guys know Jeff Colby?" Kirby perked up, turning red when the other two women turned around to stare her down for interrupting. "I - sorry. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop."

"It's cool," the first woman spoke slowly, still eyeing Kirby as if trying to decide if she meant what she said or not.

"We don't  _ ‘know him’ _ know him," the other replied, her tone a little more forgiving than her friend's. "Do you?"

They both eyed her a little more interestedly, then, realizing that there might be some benefit to talking to her.

"Um, not exactly." Kirby watched the interest slip from their faces immediately and quickly scrambled to recapture it. "I mean - we were kind of friends, a long time ago. I moved - I haven't seen him in years. Does he usually hang out here?" She nodded to the club.

"This is my first time," the first woman spoke, and Kirby immediately recognized it as a lie.

"Oh," she couldn't keep the dejection out of her tone, and that seemed to be enough to prompt the second woman into at least a little sympathy.

"Are you here by yourself?" She sounded much less threatening than the man from earlier had, and Kirby felt a tug in her chest. She'd missed that. 

"Uh - yeah. I was just cooped up in my hotel room, needed some air."

"What're you in town for?"

_ ‘I'm not really sure anymore’ _ , she thought. 

"It was for a wedding."

Kirby could see the two of them already losing interest, but before she had a chance to rectify, something over her shoulder caught one of the women’s eyes and they waved frantically. Turning to see what she was looking at, Kirby was met with the sight of another woman approaching them.

“What are you doing all the way back here? I told you I’d get us VIP,” the woman greeted, coming to a stop and raising an eyebrow in annoyance.

“I honestly didn’t think you were going to show up,” the first woman replied - her tone was rough, but familiar; the words were playfully exasperated, not truly annoyed.

“Who cares? You’re making friends, that’s cute.”

The newest woman turned her attention to Kirby and gave her a slow once-over.

“This is…?”

The second woman jumped to soothe the situation.

“Kori, this is…” she trailed off quietly, so Kirby quickly half-waved, trying not to look as awkward as she felt.

“Kirby.”

“Kirby knows Jeff,” the first woman, whose name Kirby still hadn’t learned, offered.

“Used to,” she corrected, feeling her cheeks turn red as Kori turned her gaze back onto her.

“No shit,” she replied. “How’d you know him?”

"He, uh... I just used to know him. He was friends with a... he was a friend of a friend. We weren't close or anything."

She hoped that intentionally talking herself down would save her from any embarrassing accusations of social-climbing. Kori and the other two women looked considerably more expensively dressed and professional in comparison to her. 

"Jeff and I do some business together - we went to high school together," Kori said, after a moment to mull over what Kirby had told her. 

"Yeah, he went to school near me, growing up."

"You didn't go to Penley?"

"No."

The line shuffled forward, but Kori and the other women stayed put.

"Well - this place looks shot, anyway," Kori nodded towards the club. "Jeff usually hangs out at  _ Lone  _ anyway. I was going to head there later after checking the VIP here, but..."

"God, yes," the first woman cut her off. "Let’s get out of here."

For a moment, it looked like the three of them were planning to leave Kirby behind in the line, slipping past her and ducking the rope to step back out onto the sidewalk.

"Are you coming?" The second woman turned to smile over her shoulder invitingly. 

Quirking an eyebrow in surprise, Kirby quickly followed after them, careful not to trip as she hurried along in her heels.

When she’d pictured meeting new people on a night out this hadn’t been exactly what she’d had in mind, but she wasn’t going to complain. The roll of cash in her clutch felt considerably less significant knowing that they were going somewhere considerably more expensive, but she kept her head up, following the other women to the car and mentally repeating her ‘fake it ‘till you make it’ mantra until the nagging voice of self-doubt vanished and made way for giddiness about the night ahead.

* * *

_ Lone  _ was considerably fancier than Kirby had been expecting, but she quickly realized that the looks she and the other women - Kori, and as she'd learned in the car: Amelia and Angelina - were receiving were admiration, not judgement. If anyone knew that her dress was out of season or that she'd worn it more than once, they didn't show it. 

Kori had recognized a few of Jeff's other friends when they'd come in, which had landed the four of them a spot in a comfortable, discreet booth with a view of the remainder of the club.

Kirby spent the first twenty or so minutes nervously waiting - she felt horribly out of place and awkward surrounded by strangers, and with the pressing thought of Jeff suddenly appearing - and maybe even deciding he didn't want her around - she was on edge and jumpy.

By the half-hour mark, they'd started to drink. She let the men at the table pour her drinks, pretending coyly not to notice them watching her legs every time she shifted in her seat or brushed their hands unnecessarily over her back and arms when leaning in to talk to her over the music. 

The alcohol helped. By the forty-minute mark, Kirby was comfortably swaying in her seat to the music, joining the conversations at hand and feeling more comfortable than she had since she’d landed in Atlanta in the first place. This had been exactly what she’d needed. She was beginning to think that Jeff wasn’t even going to show up when he suddenly did, as if summoned. She’d remembered him as tall and thin - impossibly cool in her eyes at age twelve. He’d been sort of nerdy in appearance if she was remembering correctly, but the very few times she’d seen him at the manor for Fallon, he’d been nice to her. 

Now, he’d filled out. It didn’t surprise Kirby at all that the attention of the table was on him instantly. He was quiet, like every move and handshake and word he spoke were carefully calculated. He made his way around the table, pausing at her and locking his gaze on hers for a moment. She watched the thoughtfulness sparkle into recognition after a moment, but before he could speak, Amelia turned to them.

"Jeff, this is -"

"Kirby Anders. Wow."

“You two know each other,” Amelia pursed her lips in thought, glancing between them for a moment. Her earlier kindness had clearly been only half-genuine. Kirby felt a little thrill of smugness shoot through her but squashed it down to fix her gaze on Jeff again, instead.

“I haven’t seen you in what, ten years?”

“About that,” Kirby replied, getting to her feet. She almost expected a handshake, but was surprised when he suddenly pulled her into a hug. His undoubtedly expensive cologne made her feel pleasantly warm, but not as warm as the feeling of his arms tightening around her. She almost felt like she was going to burst into tears. The last time she’d been hugged had been in the airport when she left her mom back in Australia - she hadn’t realized how much she’d been missing simple affection until she had it back in her grasp.

“Kirby and I go way back,” Jeff told the remainder of the table as he pulled away. His arm still slung around her shoulder felt like a comfortable weighted blanket. Kirby leaned reflexively into his side. “She used to live with the Carringtons - what’re you doing back in town?”

His attention was on her again, as was the attention of the rest of their peers. 

“I, uh - there was a wedding, but -”

Jeff’s expression darkened.

“Right.” His arm began to slip away from her shoulder and she felt a surge of panic. 

“But!” She heard her voice come out a little louder than she’d intended and reined it in. “But it sort of fell through. My dad has me staying at the  _ Apex _ , downtown.”

Visibly softening again, Jeff nodded slowly and gave her an affectionate squeeze before letting her go.

“That’s rough. When are you heading back?”

Kirby momentarily wondered if he thought that her staying in a five-star luxury hotel was ‘rough’, or if he simply understood the context of why she wasn’t staying at her old home.

“I’m not sure yet. I need to handle some business here first,” she replied.

“So, you know Fallon Carrington. You didn’t mention that.”

Kirby turned to the source of the suspicion-laden voice and was met with a chill-inducing glare from Kori, across the table.

“I - sort of. I used to. Not anymore.” Kori continued to glare, but Jeff came to the rescue.

"Ten years is a long time."

Kirby wasn't sure if the heaviness in his tone was aimed at Kori, to encourage her to drop it, or at Kirby, like a promise to not hold her former ties to the Carringtons against her. She'd heard about what had happened between their two families, but it didn't seem like the time to press for details.

"Which means," he turned his attention fully to Kirby, then took a seat beside her, "That you and I have a lot of catching up to do."

He reached for the bottle on the table, then gestured for another as their server approached. Refilling Kirby's glass, he pressed it more firmly into her hand and then smiled.

"So, start at the top."


End file.
